


Sweat it Out

by ziusura



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-27
Updated: 2014-02-27
Packaged: 2018-01-11 18:03:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1176187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ziusura/pseuds/ziusura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jackson didn't share his squat rack with just anyone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweat it Out

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mandibles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mandibles/gifts).



> Set in canon if you squint, or assume it's pre-bite. There's accidentally a lot of language in this, so, uh, if swears bother you this might not be the best to read?
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoy this, Mandibles!

The guy was at his squat rack. Jackson had been using the weight room since he started high school, and everyone knew that every Monday, Wednesday, Friday, at 3:17 pm, it was his. It was an unspoken rule and everyone followed it. Everyone except _him_ apparently. 

And, well, Jackson couldn’t let that happen. If gyms were to run smoothly, everyone needed to know the rules, and Jackson could take the hit and teach him them if he was going to encroach on Jackson's territory. 

Jackson finished his last warm-up lunge slowly, hoping the guy would realize his time was up and move, but he didn’t. He started another set of squats, and Jackson breathed out slowly through his nose—his anger was rising and he really didn’t need to get blood on his squat rack.

3:27pm. Jackson’s workout was stalled by an _entire ten minutes_. His arms tensed at his sides. What was a squat rack without at least a _little_ blood? 

He stormed over and stood right in front of the guy—he couldn’t miss Jackson. Every squat he did he’d have to look Jackson in the face, and yet, the guy didn’t acknowledge him once. His brown eyes swept disinterestedly over Jackson a few times, but that was it. 

That was fucking _it_.

“Hey, Fatty,” he called, making sure it was loud enough for most of their school’s weight room to hear. Jackson wanted this asshole brought down a peg. “I think you went in the wrong door. The cafeteria’s a little bit further down the hallway.”

He finished it with a smirk and an exaggerated point towards the door.

The guy didn’t say anything, just set the bar down and wiped his hands on his athletic shorts. He was going to step away next, and Jackson nearly cheered because clearly the guy was finally following the natural order of things. But the guy didn’t, and Jackson’s mouth twitched a little. Instead he leaned against the side of the cage, crossed his arms in front of his chest, and stared Jackson the fuck down. 

Jackson’s fists clenched, and he could feel them shaking against his thighs. The guy’s pose made his huge biceps stand out from the rest of his body, and Jackson’s mouth went dry. They were the size of his fucking head; he could probably pick Jackson up at the waist and easily pin him to the wall if he wanted, not that Jackson would go willingly. He looked good, the light blue fabric of his t-shirt stretched across his muscles and contrasting in a really nice way against his dark skin tone. 

Jackson swallowed, and still the guy said and did absolutely nothing. 

“Are you going to leave?” Jackson asked, his voice a little tighter than he wanted.

The guy raised and eyebrow and picked up the bar again to do another set of squats, and that was answer enough.

* * *

Friday rolled around and he was there again, using Jackson’s squat rack and acting like he didn’t have a deathwish. 

Jackson stepped closer to Danny during one of his warm-up lunges, and asked, “Look at that asshole. Just who the fuck does he think he is?”

Danny, of course, actually knew who it was after he took a little too long to figure out what Jackson was talking about. He full body rolled his eyes at Jackson, and Jackson made sure to nudge him towards his ex by the free weights just to show him that that wasn’t cool. “That’s Vernon Boyd, goes by Boyd. He’s in ROTC.” 

“Well _Vernon_ is at my fucking rack.” 

Danny sighed and rolled his eyes again. “Jackson there are like four other racks in the gym, _and_ you have one in your house.” 

But none of those were his rack. His rack had the best angle from the air conditioning—not too cold, but still a cooling breeze; the best view of the mirrors—he could work on his form and subtly check himself out without actively looking like he was; and the bar in that squat rack had a grip best suited to his hands. Plus, he could show off in the gym in ways he couldn’t at home, exude his alpha male status. 

Danny moved onto the next part of his workout, and after throwing a glance at Boyd and seeing that he was still there, Jackson followed him. 

Danny did upper body on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, like a weirdo, and Jackson automatically moved into spotting position at the bench press he knew Danny liked. Danny loaded the weights and they got to it.

“I’m going to tell him it’s my rack,” Jackson said. 

Danny pushed the bar up into Jackson’s hands, breathing hard. “Good luck.” 

“When have I ever needed luck?” 

Danny shot him a look, but Jackson chose to ignore it. He headed over to Boyd and his squat rack a lot more calmly than he felt. 

Jackson leaned against the adjacent cage and watched Boyd’s muscles work, willing him to acknowledge or look at Jackson. He didn’t, and Jackson crossed his arms.

“Look, Vernon, I think you need to learn some things around here,” he said, and Boyd finished his rep. Jackson didn’t continue until Boyd set the bar down and turned towards him. “This is _my_ rack.” 

Boyd considered him, running his eyes up Jackson’s form with a bored look in his eyes. Jackson cleared his throat.

“You going to let me work out or are you going to stab me with that gelled up pointy shit you call hair?” Boyd said, and Jackson’s eye twitched in response. _Those_ were going to be his first words to Jackson? 

Jackson sneered. “I want you to use a different rack.” 

Boyd rolled his eyes and went back to ignoring him, and Jackson let out a harsh breath through his nose.

* * *

On Monday, Jackson’s last class of the day let out a few minutes early. He didn’t think anything of it until he reached the locker room to change into his workout gear, and realized that Boyd was in there too. 

His rack was free. For the first time in a week or so, he could use his own freaking rack at the time he wanted to.

Jackson changed quicker than he ever had before, and decided to forego his warm-up just to make sure he got there first. 

He did, of course, and he nearly crooned at the bar at first finger’s touch because his _baby_ was in his hands again. It was good to have it back, and he made sure to show off at Boyd or in his general direction. But Boyd didn’t look at him once, and Jackson was pretty sure that not warming-up was a mistake by the end of his workout.

* * *

Friday, the field hockey team had a night game and lacrosse practice was bumped to Jackson’s usual workout time. It was no big deal, it’d happened before. Mostly it meant Jackson worked out a little tired and raw after practice, instead of a steady burn before it. 

Since it was well after 4:30pm when he got there, it was no surprise to see Boyd wasn’t there (and not on his squat rack). Still, Jackson found himself looking for a tall black man in brightly colored t-shirts, and it frustrated him to no end because he was well aware that Boyd wasn’t there.

* * *

On Monday, Jackson didn’t look at his usual squat rack. He needed to be at the library in forty minutes for a group work thing with Lydia, Danny, and a kid from the swim team, and he didn’t have the time to work himself up from seeing whether or not Boyd was there. He used the middle rack, as much as it pained him, and took a quick shower in the locker room because Lydia would make him do it anyway if he didn’t. The group finished up in an hour, and the kid from the swim team invited them to go with him to that new froyo place by the Starbucks on Main Street. Jackson begged off with the excuse that he had sensitive teeth, and Lydia and Danny shot him a look because they knew he didn’t. But his cheat day was yesterday, and Jackson had no desire to go out and sit in that shop with them and not eat frozen yogurt.

So Jackson was alone in his porsche when he drove past the front curb of the school and saw Boyd sitting there alone, reading some book. Jackson didn’t know why he pulled over and rolled down his passenger window, but he did and he wasn’t going to take it back. Boyd didn’t look up from Hamlet. 

“Why are you sitting here?” Jackson said, and Boyd slowly set the Hamlet book down. 

“What the hell is your problem?” Boyd said, and Jackson’s lip pulled up in a sneer.

“I’m asking you what you’re sitting here for.”

Boyd squinted, like he was trying to figure something out, and Jackson tapped out a quick beat on his steering wheel. 

“I’m waiting for my sister to pick me up after she gets out of work,” Boyd said eventually, his voice even and slow. “The late bus broke down after the middle school run.” 

“You want a ride?”

“What?”

The look Boyd gave him made Jackson feel like he was an eighteen foot, seven headed dragon, and Jackson frowned at him. He was perfectly capable of being nice. 

“Are you deaf? I asked if you wanted a ride.”

Boyd looked at him warily, like he was expecting Danny or something to jump out of the passenger seat with a hidden camera and scream ‘gotcha,’ but ultimately stood up. He slung his school bag over his shoulder and picked up his gym bag with the hand he was holding Hamlet with. Jackson tried not to think about how big his hands were, and how they would feel on him. 

“If you’re offering. Applewood apartment complex.”

That was on the opposite side of town, but Jackson wasn’t going to pull his offer before Boyd even stepped inside. He wasn’t that much of an asshole.

Boyd threw his bags into the backseat, and crammed his tall frame into the passenger seat. His legs were so long his knees pressed against the glove compartment, but Jackson didn’t feel like telling him where the seat adjustment button was (and Lydia might kill him since she had _finally_ gotten it where she wanted).

Boyd’s presence was overwhelming, even if he was completely quiet. He smelled like dried sweat and the gym, and Jackson tried not to breathe it in too obviously; smelling and making a face was one thing, but Jackson wanted to lean in and taste the source of it. One pop song into the ride, he had half a chub and he knew his sweatpants would do absolutely nothing to hide it, so he shifted as inconspicuously as he could and tried to cover it with his jacket.

Boyd sucked in a soft breath, and Jackson sat up straighter, the noise echoing in his head. His eyes flickered over to Boyd, and Jackson had half the mind to be embarrassed about the fact that Boyd’s stare was directed pretty obviously at Jackson’s lap. 

“What,” Jackson asked flatly, and refrained from shifting in his seat again. 

Boyd covered his mouth and turned towards the passenger window. “Nothing,” he said, and then he brought his eyes back to Jackson. “Just didn’t think giving people you barely know a ride home did it for you.” 

“Shut the fuck up. Lydia was in here earlier.” The excuse was instant, but he was pretty sure he and Boyd both knew Lydia had nothing to do with whatever was going on in his pants right then. They were on a _break_ , or whatever that meant since he and Lydia still fooled around with each other whenever the mood struck them.

“And the big sweaty man with his stinky-ass gym bag didn’t kill it?” 

Jackson tightened his grip on the steering wheel and shifted his weight again. He didn’t have to look at Boyd to know his eyebrows were raised. “If you don’t stop talking shit I might have kick you out before we get anywhere near your apartment.”

He pulled over to the side of the road, next to some shady looking pizza joint, just to add weight to his threat, but Boyd just huffed out a laugh and shook his head like he'd just figured something out.

“You wouldn’t,” Boyd said, humor in his voice.

“And why the fuck wouldn’t I?” 

“Because you’re going to take me back to your place and fuck me,” Boyd said completely deadpan, the amusement still dancing in his eyes.

It felt like he’d been tackled, but in a way where he and his teammates were guaranteed to win a lacrosse game and all they had to do was hold the ball and run out the clock. Jackson definitely didn’t have half a chub anymore, and Jackson could only swallow. He didn’t say anything more, but he put his car back in drive and turned left instead of right at the next light.

* * *

“Put your gym bag in the laundry room because I don’t want you stinking up my room,” Jackson said as he unlocked his front door. David and Karen weren’t in, but when were they ever? It made sneaking in with someone else easier, though; Jackson couldn’t complain about that. 

“Any more requests, your highness?”

Boyd meant it as an insult and Jackson knew it, but he didn’t take it as one. He had no qualms about people calling him king and shit, none at all.

‘“Yeah, don’t fucking touch anything.” 

Jackson was hallway up the stairs when Boyd called from around the corner, “How ‘bout your phone.” 

“Yeah, whatever.”

He probably had to call his sister or whatever. 

Jackson headed up to his room and dug out the lube and a strip of condoms. He set it on the bed without care for where it landed—they'd find it when they needed to, and if they didn't, Jackson had more in the back of his bedside table. 

Boyd still wasn’t up by the time he'd finished that, so he busied himself with stripping. 

Jesus christ, Boyd was certainly taking his time. How long did it take to call his sister and tell her he didn’t need a ride? 

Jackson settled on the bed and aimlessly jacked himself before he could lose his hard-on and decide that Boyd wasn’t worth sticking his dick in. It was maybe thirty seconds or so before Boyd walked in. Instead of doing something productive, like falling face first onto Jackson’s dick, he immediately rolled his eyes when he saw Jackson.

“You’re late,” Jackson said, and Boyd toed off his shoes. 

“Why? Your stamina’s shit?” 

Jackson let go of himself to sneer—being turned on diluted the poison in his stare enough—and Boyd pulled off his shirt. Jackson’s hand was officially back on his dick again. Boyd looked ridiculously good. So good, he wanted to get Boyd’s pants off himself.

Jackson stood up off the bed and walked forward, preening under Boyd’s focused gaze. He hadn’t realized how much taller Boyd was until he reeled Boyd in by the waist of his pants and popped the button; he leaned in for a kiss and realized his mouth only hit Boyd’s sternum. 

“You didn’t tell me which door was yours. I had to open like six guest bedrooms to find my way here.”

Boyd’s huge hand snaked around Jackson’s waist to rest on the swell of his ass. He didn’t push Jackson any closer, just touched, which was all well and good since Jackson needed the space to shove Boyd’s jeans down his thighs. 

“We only have two guest bedrooms,” Jackson said smugly. What kind of asshole would have _six_ guest bedrooms?

Boyd pulled back to squint at him, and Jackson didn’t like that look, so he reached down and squeezed Boyd’s dick through his boxers. It was like Jackson had pulled a rope—Boyd curled inwards, hauling Jackson into him by his ass, and they both moaned when their hips met. 

“Jesus,” Boyd breathed, and Jackson mouthed wetly at Boyd’s chest. 

He smelled like musk and B.O., but it wasn’t unbearable. Jackson had been playing sports since he was a kid, and locker room smell had made him mostly immune to body odor. If anything it turned him on more because he knew it meant that that person had worked hard, pushed their body to the limit, and could probably easily pin Jackson to the bed, and that was hot. Boyd’s biceps were magnificent—Jackson would bet that Boyd could hold him up against the wall and fuck him easily. Maybe he should ask for a round two. Boyd’s thighs were great too. Jackson let himself think about Boyd in the weight room, his quads flexing as he performed another squat. Stealing Jackson’s rack had done wonders to Boyd’s ass too (or maybe it’d always been that way, but his rack had to be worth _something_ ), and Jackson had to feel that up. 

Jackson slid his hands under Boyd’s boxers to rest his palms against his soft flesh. His ass was more fat than muscle, but it felt fucking wonderful in Jackson’s palms. 

The back of Jackson’s knees hit the side of his bed and he was easily pushed down onto it—he hadn’t been aware that they were moving in the first place. Laying on the bed gave Jackson a better advantage in the height department, so he ran one hand up Boyd’s back until he could reel Boyd in by the neck. Boyd went easily, and Jackson turned a couple of chaste kisses into something slow and filthy while Boyd pulled his pants and boxers all the way off. 

His mouth tasted like Doritos and grape Gatorade, but Jackson didn’t care, and that was a big deal because he _hated_ grape Gatorade. Despite the stubble aggravating Jackson’s lips, Jackson couldn’t bring himself to pull away from Boyd’s warm and pliant mouth.

Boyd didn’t seem to have that problem, because he pulled off with a sinful pop and dragged his hand across Jackson’s right nipple. 

“You want me to blow you?” he asked, and it took Jackson a second to answer because he was too busy staring at how dark and swollen Boyd’s mouth was. 

“I’m good,” Jackson said, and he hooked an ankle over Boyd’s ass to grind up. They both went a little breathless at that. 

Jackson was so keyed up he’d probably cream himself if Boyd tried to get his mouth anywhere near Jackson’s dick, but he wasn’t going to let him know that. He wasn’t going to admit how close he was until Boyd did. 

Boyd adjusted his hips until Jackson’s ankle fell off, and rolled them over so Jackson was on top. He had been comfortable, easy in the hot cage Boyd’s body had formed around him, but he could be that for someone else too. 

“Do you want me to blow you?” Jackson asked, returning the offer, but Boyd just shook his head no. 

“I’d rather you get in on this,” Boyd said, and he pushed the lube Jackson had pulled out earlier into Jackson’s chest. 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he mumbled like he was irritated about it, even though the thought of it made his gut squirm in excitement. 

He squirted a dollop into his hands and warmed it up before he realized that this wasn’t Lydia, this was _Boyd_ , and he didn’t care if Boyd hated cold lube. Boyd lifted his left knee with his hands, totally relaxed, and watched Jackson crouch between his legs. 

Jackson got a little distracted on the way to Boyd's pucker, but Jesus, Boyd had a nice cock. A little short, but thick at the base, and Jackson was even more on board with his plan to get Boyd to fuck him against the wall at least once. A dick like that was perfect for penetration, and with balls as big as Boyd's were, he had to come like a horse. 

Jackson rubbed a circle around Boyd’s rim with his thumb, teasing, and Boyd’s arms trembled around his leg. He leaned forward a little and watched Boyd’s face, open and flushed dark. Boyd really fucking wanted this, and Jackson had to grab the base of his dick and breathe a couple times to keep from coming right then at that realization. 

He finally stopped teasing and slid his middle finger in, and Boyd let out a deep groan and shut his eyes. The first went in so easily Jackson put the second in without much preamble, and Boyd rolled his hips into the thrust. This was definitely not the first time Boyd’d been fingered, and Jackson was willing to bet he wasn’t his first guy either. 

“Hey, do you want to ride me?” Jackson asked, and curled his fingers in the general direction of Boyd’s prostate. He didn’t hit it, but Boyd twisted his hips a little, and _oh_ , there it was. Boyd’s mouth fell open in a noiseless moan, and he tightened up around Jackson’s fingers. 

“Yeah, sure,” Boyd answered once Jackson backed his fingers up a little, all breathy and an octave lower than before. Jackson pressed his mouth to Boyd’s inner thigh to keep from moaning. 

When Jackson pulled his head away Boyd was looking at him. “C’mon and fuck me,” he said, and it was pure willpower that kept Jackson from shooting across the sheets. 

His fingers slipped out of Boyd’s asshole, and Boyd reached forward to drag Jackson up to him by his shoulder. He placed a condom into Jackson’s palm, and Jackson did his best to put it on with shaking hands and the distraction of Boyd’s mouth working against his own. 

Jackson’s fingers lingered a little too long while slicking his cock, but he was afraid that he would end it before it even started if he didn’t take a second or two for himself. 

“ _Shit_ ,” Jackson moaned into Boyd’s shoulder, and lined himself up against Boyd. He slid the head in slowly, into the tight heat Boyd offered, and tried his best not to think about anything but like, dead cats or something. Slow wasn't anything Boyd wanted, apparently since he rolled his hips and Jackson slid the rest of the way in, bottoming out with a pained groan. 

Fuck, Boyd was going to kill him. 

“What happened to me riding you?” Boyd asked with a laugh, and Jackson just sort of mouth breathed at him until his brain started working again. 

“Fuck, yeah,” Jackson said, and rolled over. Boyd’s weight settled over him easily, and Jackson grabbed at Boyd’s thick thighs. 

“Fuck, you’re so fucking hot,” Jackson said, and he barely caught Boyd’s amused smirk in his peripherals. He was too busy watching his dick disappear behind Boyd’s hand, then his waist as Boyd sunk onto him. 

Boyd’s thighs trembled underneath Jackson’s hands as he raised and lowered himself in a shallow thrust. His chest heaved with the effort, and fucking hell, Jackson was so turned on. 

His hands roamed down Boyd’s hips, fingers tracing down stretch marks and the folds of his skin until they dipped down into the backs of Boyd’s knees, where his sweat collected and pooled. 

Boyd rose, and Jackson rolled his hips up to meet him when he came back down again. 

“I’m probably not going to last long,” Boyd panted out, his face pinching together in pleasure, and Jackson’s hips snapped up before he realized it, balls tightening and burying himself deep in Boyd’s ass to come and come and come. 

“But apparently you were closer,” Boyd said once Jackson loosened his grip on Boyd’s flesh, and Jackson felt his face heat up. He was determined to make Boyd come right then so he’d forget that they hadn’t even gotten the angle right for Jackson to slide against his prostate before he’d shot. 

Boyd pitched forward so Jackson slipped out, and Jackson used the opportunity to pull him into another kiss. His hands wrapped around Boyd’s cock and Boyd sighed into his mouth. His coordination was a little shot as tired and loose as he felt, but Boyd wasn’t fairing much with their kiss as close to coming as he was. 

Jackson curled his tongue to lick at the roof of Boyd’s mouth, and at the same time he twisted his hand around the head of Boyd’s dick, dipping his thumb into his slit, and Boyd was gone. He tensed over Jackson silently, and spilled into Jackson’s waiting palm and onto his stomach.

Boyd rolled off him to faceplant into Jackson’s bed, and Jackson opened his mouth to complain about him not even attempting to keep Jackson’s sheets in their formerly unruined state. The afterglow pulled him back in before he actually said anything though, and Jackson shut his mouth with a click and sunk into his bed too. 

Boyd slapped Jackson’s stomach with a heavy hand, like he was telling him good job, and caught his breath. 

“Y’know I’ve got a squat rack here…” Jackson said, and pulled the condom off his softening dick. 

Boyd propped himself up to stare at Jackson straight in the eye, and Jackson threw the condom in the general area of the trash can. 

“You telling me you were giving me shit for nothing?”’

Jackson didn’t bother to reel in his _bitch please_ face. 

“I’m trying to get you off my fucking squat rack.”

“By inviting me to your house instead?”

Jackson turned onto his side to face Boyd, and tried not to wince at the way his skin stuck to his sheets.

“You can thank me with blow jobs if it makes you feel better.”

Boyd dropped his face into the pillow and groaned in a way that Jackson chose to interpret as sexy. He couldn’t take the “narcissistic asshole” Boyd mumbled next to be anything else though.


End file.
